From The Birmingham Age Herald, June 1, 1913. Along a pine-clad hill it lies, O’erlooked by limpid southern skies, A spot to feast a fairy’s eyes, A nook for happy fancies. The wild bee’s mellow monotone Here blends with bird notes zephyr-blown, And many an insect voice unknown The harmony enhances. The rose’s shattered splendor flees With lavish grace on every breeze, And lilies sway with flexile ease Like dryads snowy-breasted; And where gardenias drowse between Rich curving leaves of glossy green, The cricket strikes his tambourine, Amid the mosses nested. Here dawn-flushed myrtles interlace, And sifted sunbeams shyly trace Frail arabesques whose shifting grace Is wrought of shade and shimmer; At eventide scents quaint and rare Go straying through my garden fair, As if they sought with wildered air The fireflies’ fitful glimmer. Oh, could some painter’s facile brush On canvas limn my garden’s blush, The fevered world its din would hush To crown the high endeavor; Or could a poet snare in rhyme The breathings of this balmy clime, His fame might dare the dart of Time And soar undimmed forever!